


Illusion is the first of all pleasures

by lbmisscharlie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Skype, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbmisscharlie/pseuds/lbmisscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5013.html?thread=17235349#t17235349">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme: <i>John convinces Sherlock to strip for him via webcam.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusion is the first of all pleasures

John pecks at his keyboard, writing up the case of the devil’s foot. The flat is far too quiet and all evening he’s found himself attempting to fill the time – and the silence – while Sherlock is away. While John is stuck in London due to a nasty flu strain hitting three of the doctors at the surgery, Sherlock’s spending the week in Paris consulting on a private case involving a missing Klimt, a tabby cat, and a pair of converse. John’s already tried denying that he misses the man but only two days in still finds himself making two cups of tea at once.

As he types, his computer chimes and a window stating one sholmes is video calling him pops up. Biting back a grin, John clicks accept then waits while the video resolves into focus. On the screen, Sherlock looks almost relaxed, cuffs rolled and collar unbuttoned.

“John, perfect, I need to you check on an experiment I left in the fridge.”

“I hope you don’t mean the toes. You mean the toes, don’t you?”

“Just look at them and see if there is any change in coloration.” John did his best to glare at his friend. “Please?”

“Fine.”

He’s halfway across the room when Sherlock’s voice rings out again, slightly frantically. “John! Don’t touch them!” Right, then, so there’s something toxic involved. Removing the Tupperware from the fridge – and making a mental note to throw out said Tupperware once the experiment is concluded – John peers at the six (why six?) toes. While four seem to show normal signs of decomposition, one has darkened considerably and another oddly seems to be a particularly vibrant shade of chartreuse. He reports his findings out loud as he walks back to his computer.

“…one seems to have darkened, perhaps decomposing at a faster ra- Ah!” he breaks off upon seeing Sherlock, back turned to the webcam, in the process of removing his trousers. His shirt has already been removed and even with the poor quality pixilation of the webcam, John can see the muscle definition in his slender back, the rise of his slightly too prominent shoulder blades, and the shadowed clefts in his lower back. John swallowed audibly. “Um, Sherlock, what are you –”

Sherlock turned and John tried not to stare at his slim waist, small and surprisingly dark nipples, and the sparse trail of hair leading down from his navel to his – well, John was decidedly not looking there. Not at all. “John, why did you stop? I need to know what the rest of the toes look like!” As he spoke, Sherlock hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and slid them down over his hips. A thatch of dark hair was visible just at the edge of the webcam view and John found himself wishing for a zoom out function.

“I…umm…the toes are…Sherlock, why are you getting naked while talking to me?”

“John, I should think it would be obvious. I needed to speak with you about the toes, you were online, and you know I always bathe in the evenings. It simply seemed more expedient to prepare for my bath whilst obtaining your observations on my experiment.”

“Um. Oh.”

“Are you finding it that difficult to succinctly summarize the appearance of the toes? If you’d like, I can take the laptop into the bathroom with me and we can continue this conversation while I bathe.”

“I…ummm…no, that’s not…well, I suppose…I mean…”

Sherlock ignores John’s stuttering and picks up the laptop. The screen shows an extreme close-up of one nut-brown, tight nipple as Sherlock walks to the bathroom. John’s finding it difficult to breathe. Sherlock sets the laptop down on the counter and turns, walking toward the bathtub while beginning a narration of his day’s work. He seems to have given up on the subject of the toes for now and is once again treating his friend as a sounding board. John had noticed that the skull had stayed behind on the mantle in 221B and wondered how soon his friend would need someone to talk to – or at.

John’s paying no attention to the words, however, because there’s his flatmate’s arse and damn if it isn’t perfect. Even with those skinny little hips, Sherlock manages to have gorgeously round, dimpled buttocks with muscle definition that shifts with each step. John’s throat has gone dry and he’s pretty sure all the blood in his body is pooled in his groin. Sherlock gracefully lowers himself into the tub, his body slowly covered by – “is that bubble bath?!”

The look Sherlock throws him is pure peevishness, annoyance at being interrupted and at the slight mocking in John’s tone. “It helps me think.” He leans his head back, resting it on the edge of the tub, the muscles in his long neck stretching taunt. “Tell me about your day, John.”

“What? You never want to hear about my day when you’re at home.”

“Well, I do now!” Sherlock seems instantly to regret the shortness in his voice. “I mean, I’ve found today quite trying and given that I can’t deduce your day’s activities – well beyond the obvious, that you had more patients than usual today, fifteen I think, seven of them children, one with something – a marble? – stuck up his nose, that you walked home rather than taking the Underground and picked up Thai on the way – but I’m sure I’m missing things due to the pixilation of your average built-in laptop webcam. I find learning about your day relaxing, whether I see it or you tell me.”

“Deducing me relaxes you?” Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow and gestured to indicate that John could begin.

“Well. You were right about the patients, fifteen today and one nasal extraction, but it was a die, not a marble.” Sherlock regards this, as if debating if it accorded with his observations. Seeming to accept it, he laid his head back again and closed his eyes. John took this as a sign and continued to tell Sherlock about each of the other fourteen patients, his brief lunch break with Sarah, the weather on his walk home, dinner, tv, and his evening blogging, bringing him right up to the time when Sherlock video called him. Once he’s finished, half an hour later, Sherlock is as quiet and relaxed as John has ever seen him.

Sherlock pulls the plug and as the water begins to swirl away, stands and rubs his hair with a towel. John gives up on pretending not to notice his friend’s naked, wet body and only barely manages to stifle a gasp when Sherlock turns back toward the camera. His thin, lithe body stretches as he steps out of the tub and John notices with surprise – and an unexpected sense of satisfaction – that Sherlock is half hard. For a moment Sherlock says nothing, then sits on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. Then he pulls away, looking directly at the webcam, his eyes boring into John’s through the connection. “John, I... I must say, I find while I’m away I’ve begun to…to miss this,” he gestures between himself and the computer and John’s only half sure he knows what _this_ means to Sherlock.

“This case has turned out to be quite trying. Not the case itself, of course, pure child’s play, I’ll have it solved by tomorrow. But the people, god, entitled imbeciles all of them. I find I quite depend on your influence to keep me from wanting to murder them all.” John snorts with amusement. “But I have also discovered that your presence not only benefits me at crime scenes, but in my life in general. I find your presence and your voice quite soothing, and quite…well. Quite arousing at times.” John swallows, finding himself unable to think of a single thing to say; he seems to have forgotten English, forgotten everything but the dark arousal in his friend’s eyes, the damp sheen on his nude body, his cock swollen and heavy between his spread legs. Sherlock seems to expect him to say something in return but words won’t come. With an exasperated sigh, Sherlock stands. “Look, I didn’t think you would…I mean, I don’t expect anything, so we can just forget this happened. Delete it.” He turns to gather a towel and John thinks he can see a faint blush on his cheeks before he ducks his head.

“Sherlock. Sherlock, stop. This was just a surprise and I…” he trails off, then takes a deep breath. “Sherlock, sit back down.” His friend does so, but his body is tense, closed off to John. “Spread your legs.” Sherlock looks up at the camera in surprise. “I said spread your legs. Good. Now, touch yourself. I want to see you touch yourself. For me.” Even John is surprised at the force in his voice, but Sherlock rather quickly complies, wrapping his long fingers around his cock. He strokes himself, once, his eyes closing briefly, then stops and stares at John. The heat in his eyes – and his sudden, and unexpected, compliance – sends what little blood is left in John’s head southward as his cock twitches and hardens. Sherlock’s staring expectantly and John realizes they are now definitely too far gone to stop – whatever this is. He also realizes that Sherlock – who delights in breaking all the rules, who minds no one – is waiting for his orders. Waiting to obey.

He forces his voice not to waver. “Now, stroke yourself. Good. That’s good.” Sherlock’s lips fall open as he begins to rub his fist slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Jesus, Sherlock, that’s hot. Do you like it, me watching you touch yourself?” Sherlock moves his fist up his cock, thumbing over the head and smearing his hand with precum. At John’s question, he gives a curt nod but says nothing. John takes it as an invitation to continue. “Watching you, it’s making me so hard. God, just your body – it’s fucking criminal. You’re so fucking open, so goddamn beautiful.” Wasting no more time with pretense, John unzips his fly and pulls his hardened prick out. He spits in one hand, making sure Sherlock sees, and slides his hand down the length of his cock, using the saliva as lubricant. He watches Sherlock’s eyes watch him, but knows that his webcam is too close for Sherlock to see anything below his shoulders. That’s alright – John realizes that he wants to be in charge of this – whatever – and that means Sherlock spread in front of him, vulnerable, and John taking his enjoyment freely but invisibly.

“God, yes, fuck your fist, just like that. Jesus, Sherlock, you look so fucking hot, fucking yourself for me.” Sherlock’s biting his lip slightly as his pace picks up. Each time his runs up the length of his prick, he twists just slightly at the end, thumbing the head before sliding back down. John finds himself mimicking the movements, feeling the slip-slide of saliva, the roughness of his thumb, and imagining a hand slimmer and more delicate, long fingers wrapped fully around him and an arm with a downy covering of dark hair against his hip. John’s close but knows that he wants – needs – Sherlock to fall first; he’s high on this control, so unheard of in their relationship. “Sherlock, god. Are you close? I want you to come. God, I need to see you come.”

Sherlock bits his lip and immediately starts rubbing himself faster, as if he had been holding back, waiting for permission. He doesn’t say a word as he comes, spurts of semen covering his fist and abdomen, his lip white with the pressure of his teeth and his pale cheeks flushed. The sight of Sherlock’s almost pained attempt at control sends John over the edge and he comes with a low moan. His eyes close in pleasure as he leans back in the chair, panting slightly.

He opens his eyes to find Sherlock efficiently cleaning himself with a towel. “Ah, John, that was most satisfactory. But I really do need you to describe the toes to me now.”

Sherlock does solve the case the next day and when he arrives home, John knows not to hint, imply, or ask. He simply orders Sherlock into his bedroom and follows.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to name this "Absence makes the cock grow harder" but I feel like that might be more apt for something a bit crackier. :D


End file.
